


Words, Words, Words

by courtingstars (FallingSilver)



Series: Rakuzan Week [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Brief Homophobia/Misogynistic Comments, Canon Related, Gen, Power of Words, Rakuzan Week, Sarcasm, Snark, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5436050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingSilver/pseuds/courtingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mayuzumi Chihiro has a way with words. Everything he says is cynical and bitingly sarcastic. And strangely enough, the Rakuzan regular players have come to appreciate it. (For Rakuzan Week: Day Three.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words, Words, Words

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for Rakuzan Week [over on Tumblr](http://courtingstars.tumblr.com/post/135297616907/words-words-words-fic-for-rakuzan-week-day)! The prompts for Day Three included Mayuzumi and Words, so naturally I wanted to combine the two. Witness my undying love for Mayu (even though this is my first time writing about him, oddly enough?). Please check the tags for warnings. Also, I did steal the title from Hamlet, because I am a nerd. Enjoy!

Most days, Mayuzumi Chihiro’s words resembled salt being ground into an open wound. Sharp, stinging, and painful to experience.

Of course, the phantom player of Rakuzan wasn’t the type to confront people about their quirks, or even their shortcomings, most of the time. As he would have put it, it wasn’t his job. But that didn’t stop Mayuzumi from making snide remarks within earshot. Everyone on the team had been a victim of his cutting criticisms at least once. Even the exceptionally talented regular players.

Like the day when Mayuzumi was trying to use the long sink in the shower room after practice, for instance. A dozen bottles circled the faucets, all a part of Mibuchi’s extensive after-shower regimen. So Mayuzumi gave Mibuchi, who was applying a facial cleanser, a sidelong glance. Then he opened his mouth.

“Don’t you think you’re overdoing it? You’re in the _men’s_ shower room, you know. Not that you ever act like it.”

Mibuchi stared at him. “What did you say?”

Mayuzumi just shrugged and made for the exit, leaving Mibuchi there with his mouth hanging open.

Then there was that time at practice, when the Rakuzan regulars were testing a complex offensive pattern. Instead of waiting for Mayuzumi to use Misdirection like they were supposed to, Nebuya grabbed the ball early and muscled through with a dunk, with such force that it sent their clubmates sprawling across the court. Naturally, Nebuya did a typical over-the-top celebration about it.

But Mayuzumi just glared at him, and muttered, “Are you even paying attention, dumbass? Strength is pointless if you’re going to be an idiot about it. If you can’t do something this simple, maybe Coach should cut you from the team.”

This time, Nebuya wasn’t the only one gaping at him. Their coach cleared his throat and told them to execute the pattern again. Nebuya grit his teeth, but instead of telling Mayuzumi off, he just resumed his position.

Then another time at a practice match, Hayama was raving about their opponents during the pregame warm-up. He kept pointing out all the best players, and got bouncier and bouncier each time he saw them make their shots. Hayama was always searching for potential rivals before matches started.

But apparently that day Mayuzumi wasn’t in the mood to hear it, because he turned and said flat-out before it was his turn to shoot the ball, “If you’re so excited, why don’t you go be a cheerleader for the other team? Nobody needs your obnoxious energy right now.”

Hayama was so stunned he missed his next layup, and had to run extra laps during their next training session as punishment.

Then there was the infamous game where Akashi kept giving Mayuzumi detailed instructions throughout the match about how to use his Misdirection. Mayuzumi’s face gradually became stormier and stormier. He did what Akashi said, as long as they were on the court. But as they left it, Akashi said something about how all the regulars should meet him after the usual post-game review to discuss this particular match in more detail. And Mayuzumi gave him a steely look, the kind the rest of them wouldn’t dare to aim at the first-year captain.

“Who died and made you king of the universe?” he said. “You may be our captain, but you don’t own us. I’m not obligated to do everything you say.”

Akashi raised a brow, with a hint of confusion in his heterochromatic eyes. He leveled his gaze at Mayuzumi, and said very well, any player who felt they had worthier claims on their time naturally had the freedom to decline to attend. As it turned out, Mayuzumi did show up to that second meeting, though he gave no indication he was paying attention, or had any investment in the discussion at all.

Yes, Mayuzumi’s words often caught everyone off guard. Perhaps because he so rarely bothered to voice his opinion, that it was all the more startling when he did. Still, it didn’t explain why the sting of his most irritated remarks had a peculiar way of wounding more painfully than other people’s. They lingered, echoing in one’s brain long after they were said.

There was a flipside to this, however. And like the caustic bite of his words, the Rakuzan regulars experienced that side of it as well.

Like that one time a few younger players on the team were throwing remarks back and forth in the shower room, about how over-the-top Mibuchi was. They wondered aloud whether someone as girly as him really belonged in their locker room, or for that matter on the boys’ basketball team.

Mayuzumi happened to be toweling off and listening to their laughing jabs, when he suddenly interrupted, with a cool gray look.

“At least he knows who he is. And someone who shoots like him can be on whatever team he wants.” He tossed his towel in the hamper. “Mediocre people like you are always the most small-minded out of everybody.”

He left the room, while the other players stared after him. And if he noticed Mibuchi standing outside the door, clearly having heard every word of the conversation, he didn’t act like it. Mibuchi didn’t say anything, either. But his wide-eyed gaze tracked Mayuzumi as he left. And before Mibuchi quite realized what was happening, a smile crossed his meticulously moisturized lips.

Something similar happened during a break at practice, when some of Mayuzumi’s third-year classmates were huddled in a corner and complaining about certain players on the team. This time, they were muttering about how the coach was clearly biased toward Nebuya because of his size, even though Rakuzan was supposed to be the kind of team that prioritized fine-tuned skills and strategy, not muscling their way through the opposition.

At the time, Mayuzumi was filling his water bottle at the nearby fountain. As he screwed the lid back on, he gave his classmates a cynical lift of his brows.

“So what, you think you should take his place?” he said to them, in his dry way. “Nobody else on this team can do what he does. And he’s more diligent about his training than you’ll ever be.”

With that, he left, not even bothering to see if any of them had a retort to this. And if another person happened to overhear the exchange, and if that person happened to be Nebuya, well, the muscular center certainly never brought it up out loud. It was possible that the recollection made him grin on occasion, though.

Then there was that time when a second-year regular—one of the few besides the Uncrowned Kings who could claim the honor—made some offhand comment about how obnoxious it was that Hayama kept raving about their various opponents. “It’s not like they could beat us,” he bragged. “We have more championships than anyone.”

Once again, Mayuzumi happened to be within hearing distance. He turned and gave the boy a blank look.

“So it’s annoying,” he said. “At least he’s looking out for the competition. You think just because we’re reigning champions that no one else could ever play on our level? No wonder you’re always warming the bench.”

The other boy sputtered, and his face turned a furious shade of red. But he never got more than two words out in reply, before Mayuzumi was called onto the court. And nearby, standing on the sidelines waiting for the ball, Hayama was forced to muffle a laugh.

Then came the day when a few upperclassmen were in the hallway outside the locker room, gossiping about their first-year captain. For the most part, everyone followed Akashi without question. But before he led them to victory at the Interhigh, a few naysayers still remained. After all, these players complained, they were Akashi’s senpais. This wasn’t how an athletic club was supposed to work. And even if almost everyone in the club had voted for him to be captain, he ought to be more conscious of his position. Generation of Miracles or not, who did he think he was? Akashi Seijuurou was really starting to overstep his bounds.

Mayuzumi let out a slight “hm,” and they all jumped. He was hovering in the doorway, with his bag over one shoulder. No one had seen him emerge from the locker room, or knew how long he had been standing there.

“Overstepping his bounds?” he repeated, in a low voice. “Seriously?”

He looked at all of them, one by one. His usually expressionless eyes narrowed.

“Rakuzan is a meritocracy,” he said flatly. “If you really understood that, you would never question why Akashi is our captain. And if you have any brains at all, you’ll do what he says. But hey, if you don’t agree, why don’t you just challenge him for the position? I could sure use a laugh.”

He elbowed his way past them, and disappeared around the corner. The upperclassmen stood there in stunned silence. Eventually they left too, with unsettled grimaces on their faces. On the other side of the locker room was the coach’s office, which currently had the door open. A moment later, Akashi stepped out. He gazed down the empty hall.

And a smile flitted over his mouth.

Yes, Mayuzumi Chihiro certainly had a way with words. A bitter, sarcastic, and strangely affirming way. It was a contradiction, but it was true. Which was why the Rakuzan regulars learned, over the course of the very eventful year they played basketball with him, to appreciate it.

It was also why, deep down, they weren’t all that surprised when, during the final match of the Winter Cup, those characteristically biting words had a startling and curious effect that changed the future of their basketball club forever.

_“Who are you?”_

But that was another story.


End file.
